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depict."  — Beacon. 

TINKLING    CYMBALS. 

"  Enchantingly  interesting."  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  His  best,  and  a  choice  work,"  the  Boston  Globe  pronounces  "  Tinkling 
Cymbals";  and  the  American  Queen  finds  it  "strikingly  natural  and  yet 
original."  The  New  York  Tribune  calls  it  "  A  strong  and  wholesome  book. 
.  .  .  His  observation  is  singularly  keen.  His  judgment  is  generally  true.  His 
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TICKNOR    &    CO.,  BOSTON. 


ROMANCE  AND  REVERY 


POEMS 


BY    EDGAR    FAWCETT 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR     AND    COMPANY 

1886 


Copyright,  1886. 
BY  EDGAR  FAWCETT. 


All  rights  reserved. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


0  tng 
WILLIAM     HENRY     RIDEING, 

IN    MEMORY    OF    HAPPY    DAYS 
BOTH    HERE   AND   ABROAD, 

Cfjis  Book 

IS   AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBED. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  MAGIC  FLOWER    .    .    .:• •  ''•  7 

BIGOTRY 44 

SUGGESTIONS •    •    •     •  47 

DESPOTISM 5° 

A  KIND  OF  PREACHER 52 

THE  WORM •    .<r.    ^VV    .    .  54 

IMPERFECTION 56 

CHRIST    .    . *K  •  ;  •    ^  •    •    •  57 

THE  DYING  ARCHANGEL 62 

Two  WORLDS 67 

WAR   ......    ...    .  ->.    .    v    ^<^^^  68 

THE  STARS      v  ....    .    •    .    •    •    •    •     •    •    •     •  7i 

POVERTY 72 

FIAT  JUSTITIA  .........••-«"  '•    •    •  76 

GREEK  VINTAGE  SONG.     .    ...    •    •    •    •    .H^^  .''"•  77 

NAPOLEON'S  HEART      ....    .    .    .    .    .k»    ;'    *'r/.  78 

ADAGIO    .    .    .   •*   -.    .    •    •    •    •    .    *    ^    •    -*     '«4-*t,  80 

HABIT     ..    .    •    '.    •    •    •    •  '•    •    •    •    •    v  - . '-  'tfA-  8l 

THE  WISE  PAGE  .....    ^   *    .......    i?  .  83 

THE  MISANTHROPE 86 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

BIRTH 88 

HE  AND  SHE 90 

HYPOCRITES 92 


WITH  INTENT  TO  KILL 


93 


HALLUCINATION 95 

AT  MIDNIGHT 97 

Two  WOMEN 99 

AMOR  INFELIX 101 

TOLERANCE 103 

AMBITION 106 

ON  THE  RIGI 108 

THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE 109 

SISTER  BRENDA 110 

MOTHS  ROUND  A  LAMP 118 

CONCEALMENT 120 

IRONY 121 

THE  YOUNG  SAMSON 122 

NIGHT 125 

GOLD 128 

AFTER  DEATH 130 

STILL  WATER 131 

THE  WASP'S  NEST .  ...    ....  133 

THE  HEARTS  OF  TREES 135 

DISSONANCES 137 

ETERNITY 139 

SPACE 142 


CONTENTS.  v 

PACK 

DEFEAT 144 

THE  FUTURE » 145 

THE  DEATH-BED ;  •  <    .    ...»    .    ,  146 

MASTER  AND  SLAVE     .    .    ,    .    .    . 147 

HELIOTROPE 149 

DEO  VOLENTE 150 

TEMPTATION 153 

REMONSTRANCE 154 

TRANSFORMATION ;  <•'  .  156 

MAIDENHAIR .    <^'"  «-'.'*  157 

LILACS k    W  'i    .  159 

SOME  CITY  DAYS 160 

A  DEAD  BUTTERFLY 163 

THE  SORCERESS 164 

"THE  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  POETS" 177 


SONNETS. 

LONGFELLOW  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY   .    .    .    .    .     .    .  181 

OTHER  WORLDS 182 

A  DEAD  FRIEND *    ...*..  183 

Music » v:.    *    .    .    ...    .  184 

Two  PHASES *,......  185 

SILENCE •    *  .........  186 

WINDSOR  AND  ETON ^.    .    •    •    «    •    •  187 

IN  A  HOSPITAL         188 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

ANGER    ..................     l89 

RUIN  ...................     I90 

TREES  IN  THE  CITY 


VlNES  .............  :*..V~T.C...  .     .  192 

ASTERS    ..................  ^ 

THE  GIANTESS      ...............  I94 

SUICIDE  ...............    ...  195 

SUPPLICATION  ................  jo5 

To  WILLIAM  PICKERING  TALBOYS  .........  197 

INFLUENCES      .     .'    ..............  I98 

GRANT  DYING  ................  I99 

VICTOR  HUGO  DEAD     .....  .  200 


ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


THE    MAGIC    FLOWER. 

DEEP  in  a  land  of  heavy-foliaged  heights, 
Clear-cloven  of  one  fair  lordly  river,  stood 
A  palace  made  for  manifold  delights 

And  compassed  by  a  noble-towering  wood. 
Here  lived  (how  anciently  were  hard  to  tell) 
A  king  whom  all  his  people  honored  well. 

And  years  before  that  time  his  worshipped  wife, 
A  queen  Madonna-browed  and  saintly-eyed, 

With  anguish  had  surrendered  life  for  life, 
But  momently  a  mother  ere  she  died ; 

And  now  within  these  palace-walls  dwelt  one, 

A  princess,  with  long  tresses  like  the  sun. 


»»»«...  «*  t      1          « 

*  »••'          I       %          I         *  »  l  .         .       «    i     *      i       *       t     '  .    > 

8  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

Ethereal  in  her  symmetry,  and  tall, 

And  graceful  as  a  lily  when  breeze-bent, 

She  moved  among  her  maidens,  over  all 
Supreme  for  dignity  and  sweetness  blent, 

With  neither  costly  robe  nor  jewel  rare 

To  match  the  marvels  of  her  eyes  and  hair. 

Some  influence  from  her  mother's  watchful  soul 
Inseparably  round  the  Princess  breathed, 

And  seemed,  at  times,  a  shadowy  aureole 

Among  her  glimmering  tresses  faintly  wreathed ; 

And  it  was  told  that  where  she  slept  by  night 

A  Presence  watched  her,  made  from  misty  light ! 

Her  countenance  no  woodland  creature  saw 
But  straightway,  on  that  instant,  it  became 

Obedient  to  some  mysterious  law, 

And  followed  if  she  called  it,  meekly  tame ; 

And  rose-vines  round  an  oriel  in  her  room 

Were  bright  with  fadeless  fealty  of  bloom  ! 

Now  the  good  King,  her  father,  having  thought 
How  wondrously  his  child  was  pure  and  fair, 

Desponded  that  the  drift  of  fate  had  brought 
His  throne  the  blessing  of  no  lineal  heir ; 

For  in  this  land  whereof  he  held  the  throne, 

No  woman  might  aspire  to  reign  alone. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  9 

But  he  to  whom  a  princess  gave  her  hand 
When  brotherless  and  born  the  eldest,  might 

(So  ran  the  old  sacred  statutes  of  the  land) 
Reign  monarch  by  indisputable  right. 

And  meditating  that  his  death  drew  near, 

The  King  was  smitten  with  a  grievous  fear. 

"  For  who  among  our  courtiers  noblest-born 

Deserves,"  he  mused,  "to  wed  this  matchless  maid? 

Lo  !  is  it  frivolous  Rolf,  whom  gems  adorn? 
Or  stripling  Bertram,  of  the  spleenful  blade? 

Or  Ronald,  of  the  ringlets?  or,  yet  worse, 

Young  black-browed  Otho,  of  the  gamester's  purse? 

"  Ah,  none  of  these  !     And  surely  on  our  realm 
Are  fallen  most  evil  days !     True  men  no  more, 

Guileless  of  heart,  invincible  of  helm, 

Prop  the  proud  throne  with  counsel,  as  of  yore ! 

That  mightier-limbed  and  lofty-thoughted  race 

Has  past,  and  weak  successors  hold  its  place. 

"  Gentle,  heroic,  temperate,  simply  great, 

Were  those  of  whom  our  treasured  legends  tell, — 

Columnar  spirits,  on  whose  strength  our  state 
Was  builded  and  upborne,  whate'er  befell ! 

Calm  fortresses,  round  whose  repose  and  pride 

The  assailant  waves  of  discord  broke  and  died ! 


10  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

"  But  now  what  mockeries  meet  and  taunt  me  here ! 

How  shattered  are  this  people  that  I  rule ! 
How  airily  grave  statecraft  lends  an  ear 

To  jinglings  of  the  bell-besprinkled  fool! 
How  lighter  than  its  wearer's  giddy  sports 
The  gay  plume  flashes  in  my  fountained  courts !  " 

Thus  musing,  from  his  casement  glanced  the  King 
Where  monstrous  oaks  o'ershadowed  a  green  lawn 

Dappled  with  sunbeams  richly  flickering, 
And  there,  serene  beside  a  star-eyed  fawn, 

He  marked  his  child,  —  a  shape  of  virgin  grace, 

Standing  white-vestured  in  that  cloistral  place. 

"  Daughter  whom  I  so  cherish,"  thought  the  sire, 
"  Sweet  living  semblance  of  thy  mother  dead, 

What  man,  however  princely,  ought  aspire 

To  share  my  great  crown  with  thy  hallowed  head  ? 

Better  than  mateless  marriage  for  thy  doom, 

Death's  kisses  and  the  bride-bed  of  the  tomb  !  "  .  .  . 

Later  by  some  few  days,  throughout  the  land 

A  loudening  rumor  passed ;   and  these  who  heard 

Were  credulous  of  what  the  King  had  planned, 
But  those  disdainfully  believed  no  word ; 

And  lastly,  while  men  trusted  or  denied, 

The  voice  of  proclamation  sounded  wide. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER. 

And  thus  it  spoke :   "  To  all  the  truth  is  known, 
So  often  in  song  or  story  sung  or  told, 

Of  how  for  many  a  century  has  blown 
In  some  high  fastness  or  deep-tangled  wold 

Of  these  wide-looming  hills  that  round  us  tower, 

The  hidden  splendors  of  a  Magic  Flower. 

"  Yet  no  man  breathes  to-day  whose  eyes  have  seen 
The  covert  where  its  mystic  charms  endure ; 

And  tkrottgk  past  ages  it  has  only  been 
A  vision  for  the  marvellously  pure. 

And  if  the  seeker's  life  wear  spot  or  stain, 

Though  for  a  life  he  seek,  he  shall  not  gain. 

"  So  radiant  this  enchanted  Flower,  it  seems 
A  fair  star  fallen  upon  the  earths  dull  breast ! 

For  dying  searchers  of  old  time  in  dreams 
Beheld  it  after  years  of  empty  quest; 

But  even  who  truly  saw,  in  that  far  day, 

Lacked  the  white  sinlessness  to  bear  away. 

"  Now,  therefore,  doth  the  reigning  King  proclaim 
That  if  within  his  ample  realm  be  one 

(  Whether  of  lofty  lineage  and  proud  name, 
Or  lowliest  of  all  men  beneath  the  siui) 

Who  brings  the  famed  Flower  to  the  palace-gate, 

Him  doth  a  princess  and  a  throne  await." 


ii 


12  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

So  heralded,  the  royal  message  ran ; 

And  wonder  filled  the  people,  and  for  days 
No  man  throughout  the  realm  encountered  man 

But  each  his  judgment  spoke,  with  eager  phrase : 
And  all  believed  for  surety,  worst  and  best, 
He  lived  not  who  might  venture  on  the  quest. 

But  they  whose  pleasure  was  in  careless  thought, 
And  flippant  speech,  and  fashion's  random  aims, 

And  robes  of  price  fantastically  wrought, 

And  railleries  among  the  beauteous  dames,  — 

These  gentry  of  the  palace,  when  they  heard, 

Grew  merry,  jesting  with  the  royal  word. 

And  where,  with  purple,  gold  or  scarlet  dress, 
Down  vistas  that  the  elm  and  oak  made  dark, 

In  luxury,  in  languor  and  idlesse, 

Gallant  and  lady  roamed  the  leafy  park, 

Such  lightsome  scoffs  were  on  the  lips  of  these 

That  peals  of  ringing  laughter  pierced  the  trees. 

"  Poor  trustful  King !  "  compassionated  they, 
Mirth  cheapening  the  pity  of  their  tone ; 

"  He  dreams,  forsooth,  to-day  is  yesterday, 
Unmindful  that  the  world  is  older  grown 

And  far  more  wise  than,  taking  false  for  true, 

Wills-o'-the-wisp  whole  lifetimes  to  pursue !  " 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  13 

Thus  jeeringly  they  spoke  ;   but  neither  King 
Nor  Princess  heard  an  echo  of  their  jeers. 

Yet  one,  a  simple  vassal,  hearkening, 

His  pain  had  fitly  told  with  sighs  and  tears, 

Because  there  dwelt  within  his  patient  breast 

Much  reverential  honor  of  the  quest. 

But  latterly  these  pomps  of  court  he  knew, 
Brought  thither  by  a  selfish  kinsman  old, 

Who  from  plebeian  life  had  risen,  and  who 

Willed  that  to  none  their  kinship  should  be  told ; 

Since  he,  the  King's  High  Steward,  ill  could  bear 

Such  blood  as  this  poor  serving-lad's  to  share. 

And  yet,  though  hardened,  like  so  many  lives 
Girt  constantly  with  jars  of  warring  needs,  — 

Where  this  man  hilt  to  hilt  with  that  man  strives 
And  heartless  comment  hails  the  first  who  bleeds,  — 

Though  grasping,  worldly,  ruthless,  he  had  made 

The  vow  for  which  his  dying  sister  prayed. 

To  guard  her  orphan  son  had  been  that  vow,  — 
Thus  far  but  lightly  kept,  if  kept  in  truth ; 

For  seldom  save  at  secret  meeting,  now, 

He  looked  with  heedful  glance  upon  the  youth, 

Nor  noted  then,  so  slight  and  cold  his  care, 

Deep  eyes  and  shapely  frame  and  modest  air. 


f  .  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

Nor  did  he  dream  that  in  a  month's  brief  space 
Among  all  fellow-servitors  had  grown 

Love  for  the  lad's  mild  manners  and  calm  face 
And  culture  of  sweet  speech  unlike  their  own ; 

How  even  the  rudest  in  his  sight  felt  shame, 

And  strangely  coarseness  was  not  where  he  came. 

Though  sprung  in  truth  from  parentage  obscure, 
Since  boyhood  he  had  far  excelled  his  kind, 

Having  a  soul  pre-eminently  pure, 

A  glowing  faith,  a  large  and  limpid  mind, 

A  heart  unsoiled  of  envies,  greeds  or  hates, 

Lifted  in  loveliness  above  its  mates ! 

Yet  none  than  he  with  humbler  spirit  bore 
The  part  't  was  fortune's  pleasure  to  assign, 

Waiting  in  chamber  and  in  corridor, 

Serving  at  feast  the  garnet-colored  wine ; 

Standing  at  throne-foot  on  grand  audience-days, 

Immovable  below  the  crown's  rich  blaze. 

High  in  the  highest  of  those  palace-towers 

His  room  was  reared,  aloof  from  passers'  heed ; 

And  here  at  morning  or  at  midnight  hours 
Greatly  it  pleasured  him  to  muse  and  read, 

Above  the  dense  trees  bowering  the  broad  lawns, 

Up  near  the  wan  stars  or  the  damask  dawns ! 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  j 

Released  one  midnight  from  the  festal  shine 
Where  courtiers  revelled  late  with  noisy  zest, 

By  many  a  coil  of  stairway  serpentine 

At  last  he  reached  the  chamber  of  his  rest, 

And  found  the  placid  place  with  moonbeams  lit, 

As  though  dead  lilies'  souls  were  haunting  it. 

O'er  all  the  meagre  plainness  of  the  room 

A  spell  of  soft  aerial  silver  reigned  ; 
But  bold  there  gleamed  from  out  its  dubious  gloom 

A  griffon-crested  casement,  mullion-paned. 
And  he  drew  slowly  near  the  casement's  edge, 
Leaning  an  arm  upon  the  stony  ledge. 

Cloudless  above  him  vastly  curved  the  night, 
Where  deep  on  deep  of  glowing  heaven  was  laid ; 

Below,  the  illumined  river  with  its  light 
Pierced  the  remote  solemnities  of  shade, 

As  though  the  lands,  for  many  a  meadowed  mile, 

Parted  their  dark  lips  in  one  dazzling  smile ! 

Broad  open  soon  he  flung  the  casement-panes, 
And  felt  the  breezes  hurrying  cool  and  fleet, 

Sweet  as  fresh  waters  to  his  fevered  veins, 
To  brow  and  eyelids  delicately  sweet, 

Breathe  of  their  distant  native  hills  that  rose, 

In  monumental  vagueness  of  repose. 


l6  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

And  now  aloft  he  raised  both  eager  arms, 
While  on  his  face  the  summer  moon  fell  fair, 

Showing  it  sad  for  sorrow  such  as  harms 

More  deeply  by  despondence  than  despair ;  .  .  . 

Then  suddenly,  before  his  lifted  sight, 

A  meteor  dropt  along  the  monstrous  night. 

"  Perchance,"  he  murmured,  "  as  an  omen  sent, 
This  wild  star,  fading  on  the  sky's  blue  scope, 

May  symbol  mockery  and  disheartenment 
To  my  presumptuous  and  insensate  hope ! 

The  great  hills  call  me  with  air-whispers  cool    .  .  . 

Heaven  answers  from  disdainful  heights :  '  Thou  fool ! ' 

"  Ah !    what  is  my  poor  trivial  aim  to  theirs, 

The  aspirant  souls  that  strongly  strove  and  died, 

Guerdonless  after  many  toilful  cares, 
With  effort  ceaselessly  unsatisfied? 

Brave  souls,  like  meteors,  in  audacious  flight 

Breaking  their  hearts  of  fire  along  the  night ! 

"These  fought  and  failed.  .  .  .  Shall  I  not  fail  as  they? 

Though  victory's  hidden  paradise  be  sweet, 
In  vain  for  centuries  might  the  searcher  stray, 

To  grope  through  dizzying  vistas  of  defeat ! 
Ah  !  no ;  the  better  lives  thus  vainly  spent, 
Crush  courage  with  their  weight  of  precedent !  " 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  17 

And  now  he  turned,  those  dreary  words  being  said, 
And  many  times  along  the  chamber  dim 

Paced  with  close-folded  arms,  with  low- drooped  head, 
Doubt  and  belief  at  bitter  war  in  him ; 

And  ever  while  he  paced,  the  fluttering  air 

Played  in  long  tender  waftures  through  his  hair 

An  hour  so  fled,  and  at  its  end  he  stood 
Again  beside  the  casement,  and  had  now 

Grown  from  tumultuous  into  grave  of  mood, 
With  record  of  resolve  on  lips  and  brow. 

And  presently  the  voice  wherewith  he  spoke 

Depths  of  sweet-sounding  earnestness  awoke : 

"  In  vain,  dead  searchers,  ye  have  never  died ! 

Your  failure  wears  the  glory  of  success  ! 
Better  in  great  things  to  have  greatly  tried 

Than  loftily  to  have  achieved  in  less ! 
Low  ye  are  fallen,  and  yet  your  fame  shall  dwell 
Proud  as  the  fearless  distances  ye  fell ! 

"  Of  waves  that  buffet  some  bold  steep  of  stone, 
Not  those  which  round  the  rigid  bases  curl 

Would  fitly  meet  it,  but  that  wave  alone 
Which  climbs  to  perish  in  a  mist  of  pearl ! 

Though  while  it  dies  the  sea-bird  mocks  its  roar, 

Ocean  is  glad  of  it  from  shore  to  shore ! 


ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

"  Be  mine  the  effort,  though  the  fall  be  mine, 

And  never  it  is  given  my  feet  to  near 
The  fairy  fastness  where  that  bloom  divine 

Stars  its  still  solitude  from  year  to  year ! 
I  shall  go  forth  ere  warbles  the  first  lark 
And  morning  murmurs  through  the  palace-park ! 

"  I  shall  go  forth,  on  hope's  glad  mission  bound, 
Heedless  though  I  be  journeying  to  despair; 

As,  while  deep-plunged  within  some  cave  profound, 
Some  torch-flame  to  the  last  will  crimson  air ! 

So,  till  despair's  black  void  shall  bid  it  fade, 

Hope  shall  be  hope,  unquenched  and  undismayed ! 

"  And  ah  !  hope-strengthening,  there  shall  still  abide 
The  fervor  of  that  dream  which  late  has  grown 

A  shadow-like  attendance  at  my  side, 
Wed  to  my  life  as  to  a  flute  its  tone ! 

O  thou,  pure  perfectly,  above  all  blame, 

Even  thought  bows  reverence  to  name  thy  name ! 

"  What  wonder  if  the  wild  quest  that  I  dare, 
Look  promise-laden  after  those  dull  days 

In  which  with  calm  and  silence  I  would  bear 

The  unhappy  doom  no  utterance  could  phrase?  — 

Her  my  poor  creatureship  so  high  above 

Loving  with  love  that  was  so  rashly  love  ! 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  19 

"  Oft  have  I  climbed  to  this  room's  lonesome  height 
And  wept  hot  tears  that  I  would  shame  to  weep, 

Striving  across  my  soul's  clear-seen  delight 
To  draw  the  obscuring  drapery  of  sleep, 

As  one  might  rise  and  make  his  window  dim, 

Wakeful  for  some  low  gold  moon  watching  him. 

"  Yet  all  my  patient  strivings  were  as  naught, 
And  not  again  the  old  peace  was  ever  won, 

And  always  to  its  lofty  love  my  thought 
Staid  loyal  as  the  sunflower  to  its  sun : 

While  she,  that  knew  not  of  this  woful  thrall, 

Knew  not  moreover  if  I  was  at  all ! 

"  Then  came  at  last  my  golden  day  of  days ! 

Her  yearly  birth-feast  gleamed  with  royal  wealth ; 
I,  kneeling  low  beneath  her  maiden  gaze 

While  the  great  King  and  courtiers  pledged  her  health, 
Proffered  the  jewelled  cup  she  leaned  and  took, 
Blessing  me  while  she  leaned  with  one  bright  look ! 

"  A  moment,  and  her  sweet  eyes  turned  from  mine, 
Claimed  of  subservient  throngs  on  either  hand ; 

But  in  my  veins  the  glad  blood  leapt  like  wine, 
And  amorous  music  made  the  air  turn  bland, 

While  through  the  music  borne,  a  vague  voice  said : 

4  For  that  she  knows  thou  art,  be  comforted !  ' 


20  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

"  Always  thenceforward,  wheresoe'er  we  met, 
I  found  some  slight  sign  on  her  face  that  told 

How  yet  I  was  remembered,  and  how  yet 
The  precious  memory  had  not  waxen  cold ; 

But  on  bare  sward  gleams  April's  earliest  kiss 

Not  faintlier  than  the  smile  that  told  me  this ! 

"  And  now  I  seemed  as  one  whose  joyful  sight 
Sees  lines  of  dull  and  beetling  cliff  disclose 

Reaches  of  pasture,  affluent  with  light, 

Wooded  and  watered  for  a  god's  repose,  — 

Though,  while  within  his  breast  desire  burns  hot, 

T  is  fate  that  valley  ward  he  wander  not ! 

"  Still,  sight  is  given  for  rapture.  .  .  .  So,  akin, 

Knowledge  that  now  seemed  knowledge,  now  surmise, 

Made  it  not  all  mere  misery  to  have  been, 
Filled  life  not  wholly  with  dissentient  sighs. 

Dark  frowned  the  crags ;  but  dells  whence  odors  came, 

Busied  their  bird-throats  with  my  carolled  name ! 

"  No  longer  was  it  strange  that  I  grew  bold, 
Believing  much  and  fondly  fancying  more, 

My  days  to  one  rich  dreamy  cadence  rolled, 

'  She  loves  thee  !"  loves  thee  !' '  loves  thee  !'  o'er  and  o'er  . 

No  longer  was  it  strange  that  passion  strong 

Sundered  restraint  and  blossomed  into  song ! 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  21 

"  Dropt  on  that  shadowed  path  which  bough  and  bole 

Picture  at  ending  with  a  reach  of  sky, 
Where  always  't  is  her  evening  wish  to  stroll 

Companionless,  I  let  these  poor  words  lie, 
Known  but  for  color  from  some  oak's  fallen  leaf, 
And  yet  no  lightlier  touched  with  tints  of  grief: 

"  *  If  flowers  have  been  that  never  saw  the  sun, 
Or  birds,  fleet-plumed,  that  never  voyaged  air, 

Or  well-wrought  lutes,  implayed  by  any  one, 
Or  faultless  women  that  no  man  called  fair  ; 

If  these  things  ever  have  been,  my  heart  brings 

A  hopeless  dream,  to  match  it  with  these  things  ! 

"  (  Even  as  a  corpse,  my  dream,  with  shrouded  face, 
Is  borne  where  no  light  falls,  no  breeze  may  stir, 

Is  borne  in  sorrowing  silence  to  tJic  place 
Of  cold  serene  eternal  sepulchre  ! 

L  ift  not  the  enfolding  cerements,  lest  thou  weep, 

Moved  by  the  pathos  of  its  marble  sleep  ! 

"  '  For  since  on  thy  pure  life  no  blame  should  rest, 
Because  thou  wert  but  worshipped  from  afar 

With  longing  such  as  when  the  seas  prone  breast 
Throbs  incommunicably  to  some  star, 

Surely  that  thou  shouldst  mourn  my  dream  when  dead, 

Nothing  hereafter  shall  have  profited!' 


22  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

"Thus  plaintive  ran  the  song  that  I  had  wrought; 

And  watchful  of  the  dim  path  where  it  lay, 
I  lingered  on  till  cool-aired  evening  brought 

The  Princess,  gliding  in  her  graceful  way : 
Unseen  I  lingered,  and  unseen  erelong 
I  saw  her  white  hand  hovering  o'er  the  song. 

"  But  straightway  then  I  felt  quick  terror  draw 
Thrill  after  thrill  from  faltering  heart  to  brain, 

And  strangely,  as  with  altered  vision,  saw 
This,  my  late  act,  rash,  insolent  and  vain ; 

Then  fled,  like  one  whom  some  sharp  wound  provokes, 

Fleet-footed  through  the  labyrinthine  oaks. 

"  With  poignance  of  unspeakable  regret 
For  folly  such  as  wakened  wisdom  shows, 

Tireless  amid  the  hours  until  we  met, 
Self-accusation  dealt  its  deadly  blows ; 

And  on  the  morrow  my  wrung  spirit  knew 

How  night's  black  prophecies  were  proven  true ! 

"  For  even  as  one  who  loves  a  wild-wood  place 
Because  of  leafy  charms  he  has  often  seen, 

Yet  misses  now  a  well-remembered  grace 
Wind-ravaged  from  its  garlandries  of  green ; 

So,  passing  her,  I  marked  the  clear  eyes  grown 

To  one  calm  blank  avoidance  of  my  own. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  23 

"  All  beauty  engirt  her  sweetly,  as  of  old ; 

But  now  no  dear  regardful  gleam  was  lent 
To  light,  in  their  smooth  harmony  of  mould, 

Unsullied  brow  or  classic  lineament. 
And  morrow,  lapsing  into  morrow,  bare 
Fresh  fagots  to  the  flame  of  my  despair ! 

"  For  since  my  love  had  ventured  from  the  first 
No  height  of  hope  more  daring  than  to  show 

The  unspoken  curse  wherewith  its  life  was  curst, 
The  knowledge  of  that  joy  'twas  death  to  know, 

Meaning  not  bolder  by  the  song's  late  strain 

Than  when  some  wearied  captive  moves  his  chain ; 

"  Since  I  the  lowliest  part  had  willed  to  play, 

And  homage  not  unseemlier  to  allege 
Than  those  rich  flowers  that  bloom  in  bright  array 

Perpetually  round  her  casement's  edge, 
Thrilling,  I  doubt  not,  through  each  burdened  stem 
If  her  benignant  eyes  approve  of  them,  — 

"  Now,  therefore,  that  I  sought  this  mediate  sense 
Between  cold  vassalage  and  love's  warm  phrase, 

Yet  proffered  but  a  menial's  insolence, 

Jeered  from  the  encircling  world  on  all  my  days ! 

The  brutes,  the  flowers,  earth,  water,  sky  or  air 

Had  right  of  reverence  that  I  could  not  share  ! 


24 


ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


"  And  so  in  drear  disquietude  I  past 

Through  hours  of  darkness  whose  appointed  end 
Seemed  possible  alone  when  death  at  last 

The  shade  of  its  austerer  gloom  should  send,  — 
Till  that  strange  message,  loud  along  the  land, 
Cheered  like  the  waving  of  a  far  white  hand ! 

"  Lo,  now  the  patriarch  King  proclaims  !  and  lo, 

Disloyalty  contemns  his  high  decree  ! 
Yet  on  the  wild  quest  men  refuse  I  go,  — 

I  go,  nor  shall  much  toil  dishearten  me ! 
Hide  well,  strange  haughty  Flower,  that  wondrous  crest ! 
Another  life  is  arming  for  thy  quest ! 

"  Powers  of  the  darkness,  Powers  of  the  wind  or  light, 

Mysterious,  masterful,  whate'er  ye  are 
That  shroud  this  peerless  bloom  from  mortal  sight 

As  black-winged  thunder  shrouds  a  sparkling  star, 
Does  now,  while  mountainward  my  words  are  borne, 
Scorn  on  dim  awful  faces  answer  scorn? 

"  In  some  still  cavern,  sacred  to  your  spells, 

Group  ye,  with  knit  brows  and  strong  folded  arms, 

The  resolute  unpitying  sentinels 

Whom  this  my  purpose  grieves  not  nor  alarms? 

Or  do  ye  sigh  that  one  more  life  should  spend 

Bright-blooded  youth  toward  an  empty  end  ? 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  2$ 

"  Spirits,  I  may  not  know  if  pity  fills 

Your  hearts  with  lenient  heed  of  my  heart's  woe ; 
Or  if  ye  keep  alike  for  all  men's  ills 

Unvarying  scorn,  Spirits,  I  may  not  know ! 
But  whether  hate  or  whether  love  be  yours, 
Be  mine  the  zeal  that  till  I  die  endures  !  "  .  .  . 

Thus  having  murmured,  ere  an  hour  he  stood 
Where  moon-made  arabesques  lay  sweet  to  see 

Under  the  breezy  leafage  of  that  wood 

Which  reared  on  all  sides  many  a  massive  tree ; 

Nor  lingered  long,  but  fared  till  far  away 

The  royal  towers  loomed  huge  in  breaking  day. 

Before  him,  at  the  horizon,  waved  the  clear 

Bough-vestured  contour  of  those  hills  he  sought, 

Here  broken  with  meadowy  intervals,  and  here 
In  spaces  of  long  shadowy  forest  wrought, 

Their  summits  turbaned  with  pale  misty  fleece, 

Dawn-flushed  and  plastic  to  the  wind's  caprice. 

Now  on  toward  those  majestic  hills  he  bore ; 

And  just  at  noon  he  knelt  beside  a  spring 
Set  like  a  jewel  in  a  glade's  green  floor, 

And  drank,  and  heard  the  mavis  carolling, 
Or  close  at  hand  the  rich  euphonious  boom 
Of  wild  bees  revelling  in  a  brake  of  bloom. 


26  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

And  now  it  seemed  that  all  sweet  sounds  or  sights 
Were  touched  with  pensiveness  in  tone  or  hue, 

Here  at  the  land-rim  whence  those  wooded  heights 
Billowed  immense  against  the  northern  blue ; 

From  sky-tint,  bird-song,  leaf-gloss  or  wind-swell 

Farewell  reiterating  soft  farewell ! 

For  he  had  gained  that  limit  whence  began 

Perchance  the  unchanging  doom  of  keen  unrest.  .  .  . 

And  here  the  annalist  would  vainly  scan 
By  separate  episodes  his  patient  quest, 

Since  each  day's  fresh  toil  brought,  in  weary  way, 

Laborious  likeness  to  its  yesterday. 

And  time  went  flowing  along,  but  he  was  now 
A  wanderer  still,  his  stubborn  hope  not  dead, 

Wearing  maturer  signs  on  cheek  and  brow, 
Bounteously  bearded  and  wild-garmented ; 

Older  by  years,  and  yet  with  youth  well  seen 

In  stalwart  stature  and  in  virile  mien. 

No  constant  home  for  night  or  day  was  his ; 

With  none  to  heed  where  he  might  pause,  whence  flit, 
His  life  was  even  as  some  fleet  mute  life  is, 

Ignorant  that  its  own  shade  follows  it; 
And  ever,  where  he  staid  to  sleep,  the  spot 
Through  all  its  myriad  morrows  knew  him  not. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  2J 

For  drink  the  mountain  streams  gave  crystal  store, 

The  foliaged  wildernesses  gave  for  food 
Snared  game,  and  berries  that  its  bushes  bore, 

And  many  a  savage  herb  or  root-growth  rude ; 
And  the  steep  lands  he  roamed  for  slumber  gave 
Countless  complexities  of  pass  and  cave. 

Nor  through  those  lands  did  winter  work  large  ill : 
Snows  came  not,  or  fell  lightly  if  they  fell ; 

Whence  in  all  seasons  he  might  search  at  will 
Summit  by  summit  or  deep  dell  by  dell ; 

And  wherefore  seldom  was  he  doomed  to  dare 

The  wilder  savageries  of  earth  and  air. 

Sandalled  he  was  in  strong-thonged  rugged  wise, 
And  clothed  with  sturdy  skins  of  his  own  spoil, 

Flexile  the  girth  of  shoulder  and  of  thighs 
To  raiment  fitly  for  his  mountain  toil,  — 

Seeming,  apparelled  thus,  a  shape  that  trod 

Guardian  of  those  acclivities  and  god  ! 

But  mercilessly  glided  on  the  years, 

And  yet  the  elusive  guerdon  was  not  gained ; 

And  moods  possessed  him  now  of  lonely  tears, 

Like  blood-drops  from  his  heart's  hot  centre  drained ; 

And  age,  that  spares  no  mortal  strength  of  limb, 

Became  as  unseen  shackles  clasping  him. 


28  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

Then,  while  hope  withered  in  his  wearied  breast, 
And  his  dead  youth  a  phantom  summons  grew, 

Valleyward  luring  him,  since  life  at  best 
Of  unborn  days  held  meagre  residue, 

Still  he  staid  firm,  and  with  unfailing  will 

Wrought  him  a  staff,  and  weakly  wandered  still. 

"  For  now,"  he  mused,  "  the  end  is  near  and  sure ; 

The  story  of  my  long  quest  is  all  but  told ; 
My  life,  a  tremulous  leaf,  hangs  insecure ; 

Death's  wind  is  fluttering  round  its  languid  hold. 
Let  my  short  future  fitly  crown  my  past, 
Resolute,  sacrificial,  till  the  last !  "  .  .  . 

So  the  rude  hills  yet  held  him,  now  no  more 
Going  light  of  foot  along  their  wavy  ways, 

Feebler  of  step  while  ever  onward  wore 
The  hours  of  those  inexorable  days ;  — 

Half  glad  to  feel  his  futile  searching  cease, 

Half  eager  for  death's  darkness  and  its  peace. 

Then  it  befell  at  last,  one  fatal  morn, 
That  after  wakening  he  essayed  to  rise, 

And  moaning  a  great  hollow  moan  forlorn, 

Sank  backward  with  white  lips  and  glassy  eyes, 

While  round  the  rock-built  vaultage  where  he  lay 

The  careless  dawn  became  the  careless  day. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  29 

Prone  with  exceeding  faintness  did  he  lie 
Till  evening,  and  at  evening  was  aware 

That  sounds  of  solemn  storm  were  in  the  sky, 
And  gusty  spasms  were  shaking  the  dim  air ; 

And  while  he  listened  his  desire  grew  deep 

Forth  from  the  shadow-haunted  cave  to  creep. 

So,  panting  hard  and  straining  his  poor  strength, 
He  dragged  his  nerveless  body  pace  by  pace, 

And  under  the  dull  windy  heaven  at  length 
Crouched  in  the  bleak  light  of  an  open  place ; 

And  then,  while  fierce  gales  tossed  his  whitened  hair, 

Girt  with  the  growing  storm,  he  prayed  this  prayer : 

"  Stern  warders  of  the  Flower,  I  charge  you,  hear  ! 

Witness,  I  charge,  the  death-damp  on  my  brow ! 
I,  impotent,  that  many  a  dauntless  year 

Strode  on  through  thorny  failure,  perish  now ! 
And  yet,  imperious  bafflers,  while  I  die, 
Even  this  deep  thunder  shall  not  drown  my  cry ! 

"  For  lo,  I  freight  with  fervor  of  appeal 

The  black  wings  of  the  tempest !     Lo,  I  make 

These  weak  lips,  that  death  seals  with  frigid  seal, 
A  voice  above  the  rumbling  cloud-heights  wake ! 

By  all  my  long  hope's  long  unanswered  need, 

Spirits  invisible,  I  charge  you,  heed ! 


3o  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

"  If  yet  she  lives,  that  saintly  and  lovely  soul 
In  whose  dear  service  I  have  faltered  not, 

Attaining  this  my  untriumphant  goal 
Here  at  the  limit  of  my  woful  lot, 

Grant  me  to  find  her  feet,  and  kneeling  tell 

How  mine  fared  faithful  till  the  hour  I  fell ! 

"  Grant  me  thus  much,  O  ye  that  have  denied 
All  else  with  changeless  calm  of  disregard ! 

Yet  deem  not,  thus  demanding,  that  I  chide 
Your  ways  of  hidden  will,  however  hard, 

Nor  doubt  remembrance  of  my  toil  has  lent 

Victory  to  mine  hour  of  vanquishment! 

"  For  though  indeed  this  life  shall  straightway  pass, 
And  the  unborn  morrow's  first  faint  rosy  ray 

Shall  find  me  dumb  as  granite  on  the  grass, 

While  chance  winds  breathe  above  my  pulseless  clay, 

This  down-flung  husk  and  sheath  of  what  was  I 

Sepulchred  only  of  the  arching  sky ; 

"  Although,  perchance,  before  a  month  shall  end, 
My  naked  bones  lie  pale,  my  body  turn 

Dust-booty  for  the  frivolous  gales  to  send 
Anywhither,  in  antic  unconcern ; 

Still,  that  I  strove  and  faltered  not,  shall  stand 

Beyond  the  ruin  of  corruption's  hand  !".... 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  31 

There  through  the  strange  tempestuous  dusk  rose  high 
His  fervent  words  till  even  the  last  was  said.  .  .  . 

Then  rolled  the  thunder,  like  a  god's  reply, 
Reverberate  and  voluminous  overhead  ; 

But  ere  the  echo  of  the  peal  was  done, 

Turmoil  and  silence  to  his  ears  were  one ! 

And  while  the  strengthening  storm-wrack's  abrupt  night 
Disfeatured  all  that  mountainous  domain, 

Above  him  abject  rioted  the  might 

Of  ruffian  blasts  that  whirled  the  sheeted  rain ; 

And  momently,  unnoted  of  his  eyes, 

The  lawless  lightning  rent  the  livid  skies ! 

Long  horribly  raved  the  tempest,  and  long  staid 
The  startling  interchange  of  peal  and  glare, 

Till  now,  an  utter  stillness  being  made, 
No  stem  was  stirred  within  the  palsied  air, 

And  dawn  against  the  sky-line,  dim  to  view, 

Cinctured  the  opaque  heaven  with  ghastly  blue. 

But  broadening  zenithward,  the  light  began, 
As  though  some  desolate  polar  sea  should  split 

When  Arctic  summer  cleaves  its  crystal  span 
Of  ice,  disparting  and  dispelling  it; 

Even  thus  the  darkness,  to  its  core  moon-ploughed, 

Broke  in  great  pearly  bergs  of  drifting  cloud. 


32  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

And  forthwith  as  the  face  of  one  who  grieves 
By  sudden  joy  is  filled,  its  tears  yet  warm, 

The  lustre  of  innumerable  leaves 

Laughed  limitless  below  the  wasted  storm ; 

And  many  plaintive  unseen  insect  things 

Filled  the  wet  world  with  dreamy  murmurings. 

Then  wondrously  he  started  up  from  swoon, 

He  started  with  spread  arms,  and  straightway  knew 

For  true  indeed  the  mild  full-rounded  moon, 
The  scintillance  of  sward  indeed  for  true ! 

And  sure  that  no  death-fancy  tricked  his  sight, 

Trembled  in  deep  thanksgiving  and  delight. 

Soon  also,  glad  at  heart,  was  he  aware 
That  all  sore  malady  had  slipt  from  him, 

And  that  he  stood  on  earth,  with  answered  prayer, 
Potent  in  each  resuscitated  limb, 

Still  one  in  whom  youth's  fire  hath  ashes  turned, 

Yet  strong  to  achieve  that  end  for  which  he  yearned. 

While  thus  he  paused,  about  the  shining  sward 
(For  so  it  fell,  as  if  by  random  chance), 

Ere  from  those  pale  heights  he  went  palace-ward, 
A  moment  wandered  his  half-heedless  glance, 

Beholding,  severed  by  the  late  storm's  power, 

The  ruined  stalk  of  one  wild  mountain-flower. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER. 

And  watchful  of  how  low  its  leafage  drooped, 
Compassionate  regard  illumed  his  eyes, 

And  close  above  the  shattered  Flower  he  stooped, 
Until  his  white  beard  touched  it  vapor-wise, 

And  on  his  hand  one  large  tear,  like  a  gem, 

Dropt  as  he  broke  the  green  bud  from  the  stem. 

Then  rising,  with  slow  tremulous  tones  he  said : 
"  Be  joined  our  sad  fallen  fortunes,  fate  with  fate, 

Poor  bud,  that  in  blast-levelled  lowlihead 
Sorrowest  for  sweet  hope  unconsummate ! 

Surely  with  me  'twere  fitter  thou  shouldst  fare, 

Companioning  with  ruin  my  despair ! 

"  We  shall  go  down,  we  two,  toward  that  dear  land 
Whence  in  days  distant  my  desire  took  wing, 

And  where  like  sea-foam  to  the  sea-swept  sand 
Manifold  lovely  memories  yet  cling ! 

We  shall  go  down,  while  these  calm  hills,  for  us, 

Abide  indifferent  to  our  exodus ! 

"  Lo,  here,  in  place  of  perished  youth  shall  be 
The  shadow  of  wrinkled  age  I  am  become ! 

And  as  I  kneel  upon  allegiant  knee 

To  murmur  of  my  life's  long  martyrdom, 

Thou  shalt  well  cast,  poor  bud  of  piteous  blight, 

Cold  irony  on  that  lost  Flower's  delight ! 

3 


33 


34  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

11  But  she,  I  doubt  not,  bending  where  I  kneel 
Her  sweet  memorial  charm  of  unchanged  eyes, 

Through  all  her  soul's  white  chastity  shall  feel 
A  new  slow  splendor  of  divine  surprise, 

Brimming  it  wholly,  as  pure  dawn  might  brim 

All  a  clean  lily  to  the  balmy  rim ! 

"  And  then,  I  dare  hope,  dowered  with  gentle  strength, 
Clear  through  my  proud  heart  shall  her  vision  go, 

Until  her  spirit  shall  have  learned  at  length 
The  life-long  fealty  of  my  own  to  know,  — 

Viewed  by  one  glad  look,  as  mild  lightnings  view 

Some  deep  cloud-cloister  of  the  midnight  blue ! 

"  And  though  in  that  last  hour  we  seem  to  meet, 
Given  of  the  churlish  years  but  slender  grace, 

As  two  that  stand  chasm-sundered  while  the  fleet 
Immitigable  dark  hides  face  from  face ; 

Yet  in  such  hour,  —  nay,  even  at  death's  bleak  edge, 

To  have  deemed  my  stern  past  vain  were  sacrilege  !  "  .  . 

Down  o'er  the  slopes  of  those  dawn-lighted  hills, 
Having  so  spoken,  he  set  forth  full  soon, 

By  rocky  barriers  and  by  rainy  rills 

And  pines  keen-pinnacled  against  the  moon, 

Or  tracts  of  wood  whose  fissured  foliage  made 

Pillared  serenities  of  ghostly  shade. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  35 

And  marvellous  also  was  the  agile  speed 

That  spurred  his  steps  on  their  steep  downward  way, 
As  though  he  had  gained  some  grace  of  godlike  heed 

That  willed  all  weariness  to  stand  at  bay ; 
And  he  had  crossed  the  utmost  hill's  lone  height 
Ere  yet  the  suave  moon  held  the  central  night. 

Now  onward  with  unlessening  speed  he  went 
Over  the  lowlands,  till  three  added  hours 

In  distant  fathoms  of  wan  firmament 

Had  reared  before  him  the  black  palace-towers, 

And  reached  at  last  the  royal  park,  and  stood 

Among  the  bowers  and  aisles  of  its  broad  wood. 

But  when  he  neared  the  palace-walls,  and  let 
His  glance  roam  as  it  listed,  here  and  there, 

Watching  the  parapet  on  parapet 

Of  terraced  lawn  drop  grandly  through  vague  air, 

The  bloomful  urns,  the  shrubs  in  gleaming  line, 

The  carven  cornice,  the  armorial  sign, 

Or  yet  the  solemn  portals  of  vast  size, 

The  graceful  balconies  vine-screened  from  sight, 

The  flickering  fountains  that  curved  petal-wise 
From  calices  of  sculptured  malachite, 

The  silvery  pools,  the  slopes  of  dreamy  fall, 

The  myriad-windowed  palace  proud  o'er  all, — 


36  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

Now  when  he  had  viewed  these  fair  shapes  one  by  one, 
From  time's  tyrannic  changes  all  seemed  free, 

As,  after  centuries  of  storm  and  sun, 
The  immemorial  dictatorial  sea; 

Nor  could  he  mark  a  trace  whereby  to  tell 

Of  the  fierce  years  that  plunder  and  dispel. 

But  when  he  reached  the  steps  where  grim  in  stone 
Two  lions  of  mighty  bulk  were  crouched  at  base, 

Sheer  from  his  jaded  frame  all  zeal  had  flown, 
Craving  for  any  rest  in  any  place ; 

And  forthwith,  grown  too  tired  to  heed  or  care, 

He  sank  in  slumber  on  the  stately  stair.  .  .  . 

Then  it  befell  for  him  that  they  who  keep 

Ward  o'er  the  weightless  phantasms  we  name  dreams, 
Divided  the  dark  tapestries  of  sleep 

On  a  drear  vision  of  strange  glooms  and  gleams,  — 
A  glimmering  cavern,  huge  and  deadly  still, 
Like  the  cold  hollowed  heart  of  some  great  hill. 

Rough-cloven  of  living  rock  the  arched  walls  rose, 

In  gray  quiescence,  in  sepulchral  light; 
And  here,  while  silence  took  intense  repose, 

He  moved  with  laggard  steps,  with  doubtful  sight, 
And  on  through  openings  far  away  descried 
New  shadowy  cavern  into  cavern  glide. 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  37 

But  glancing  earthward  swiftly,  in  a  trice 

He  felt  his  brain  reel  hard  in  throes  of  dread, 

Felt  horror  like  a  rigid  hand  of  ice 

Assault  his  heart  and  make  his  limbs  grow  lead, 

And  strove  to  let  one  bitter  cry  cleave  air, 

But  stood  with  locked  lips  and  affrighted  stare. 

For  all  the  cavern's  amplitude  of  floor 

Was  clogged  with  human  forms  whose  every  face 
Death's  pale  indubitable  sign  upbore, 

Haggard  and  wide-eyed  in  that  spectral  place ; 
Yet  though  they  seemed  long  dead,  for  some  strange 

cause 
Corruption  marred  them  with  no  hideous  flaws. 

Then  he  was  made  aware,  in  this  wild  dream, 

That  near  him,  risen  from  deeper  deeps,  there  stood 

Many  commingled  shapes  of  mien  supreme, 
With  beauty  and  awe  to  tell  their  brotherhood ; 

Shapes  as  funereal-hued  and  large  as  when 

Thunder-clouds  move  in  images  of  men. 

But  one  rose  kinglier  than  his  kind,  and  he 
Spake  presently,  with  rich  voice  pealing  clear : 

"  Believe  not  thou  the  throngs  that  compass  thee 
Allured  but  of  their  own  blind  rashness  here  ! 

Lo,  these  that  sought  the  sacred  Flower  and  gained 

Void  shadow,  are  thus  defeated,  thus  disdained !  " 


38  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

So  in  his  curious  dream  that  spirit  spake, 

Sweeping  one  haughty  hand  above  the  dead  .  .  . 

And  now  a  silence  which  he  dared  not  break 
Followed  for  many  moments,  till  he  said : 

"  And  on  my  own  life  must  the  same  doom  fall, 

Thus  to  lie  lifeless  in  this  monstrous  hall  ?  "  .  .  . 

Even  then,  as  if  for  answer,  he  awoke 

Immediately ;  and  now  the  morn  was  high, 

And  all  the  towering  stair  besieged  of  folk 
Who  turned  to  him  with  many  an  eager  eye ; 

And  near  him  stood,  both  wondering  hands  outspread; 

The  King,  deemed  long  ago  among  the  dead  !  .  .  . 

But  when  from  prostrate  posture  he  rose  up, 
He  wondered  sharply  that  his  hand  should  hold 

A  great  flower,  like  a  diamond-crusted  cup, 
Dazzling  with  blended  splendors  manifold,  — 

A  thing  in  truth  so  radiant  that  man's  sight 

Failed  where  it  blazed,  ineffable  for  light ! 

Lo,  even  to  such  magnificence  of  bloom 

Had  burst  the  poor  bud  gathered  by  his  hand 

When  pitiful  of  its  vague  moonlit  gloom, 

Ere  he  went  downward  from  that  lofty  land ;  — 

Common  and  lonely  then,  but  at  this  hour 

Miraculously  grown  the  long-sought  Flower ! 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  39 

Nay,  nor  long  sought !  in  truth,  not  sought  so  long, 
By  many  a  fancied  year,  as  he  had  deemed ; 

For  now  in  centre  of  that  marvelling  throng 
Fair  with  all  youthful  majesty  he  seemed 

As  when  he  moved,  ere  yet  the  quest  was  old, 

Lordly  and  lovely  over  wild  and  wold. 

For  thus  far  had  the  quest  been  real ;  but  all 

Which  followed  by  some  wayward  spell  was  lent, 

Out  from  the  dominance  of  whose  dark  thrall 
He  woke  at  last  in  speechless  wonderment, 

Those  latter  years  of  weakness,  woe  and  toil 

Cast  wholly  from  him,  like  a  snake's  dry  coil ! 

And  now,  before  another  hour  was  fled, 

The  King  had  learned  the  story  of  his  quest, 

And  he  had  felt  upon  obeisant  head 
The  hands  of  royal  benediction  rest, 

And  heard  the  murmur :   "  Thou  hast  nobly  won 

The  title  of  thy  sovereign's  chosen  son !  "  .  .  . 

So  the  King  spake,  with  faint  yet  tender  tone, 
As  one  that  ill  can  hide  besieging  tears, 

And  left  him  in  a  great  rich  room  alone, 
Those  words  like  echoing  music  to  his  ears, 

And  all  his  soul  like  gladdened  wine  that  keeps 

A  spear  of  sunlight  in  its  ruby  deeps ! 


40  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

But  while  he  mused  how  fate  had  willed  to  send, 

After  continual  sorrow  bliss  untold, 
Softly  was  parted  at  the  chamber's  end 

A  crimson  arras  wrought  with  ferns  of  gold ; 
And  issuing  thence,  with  cheeks  like  rosy  flame, 
With  eyes  all  starry  fire,  the  Princess  came. 

And  outward  from  no  flower's  fair  covert  slips 
Any  bright-belted  bee  its  charms  beguile, 

Than  brilliant  now  between  flower-balmy  lips 
Broke  the  warm  wordless  welcome  of  her  smile ; 

And  watching  her  chaste  face,  for  joy  agleam, 

It  was  with  him  as  when  we  dream  we  dream. 

Entranced,  elated,  thrilled,  he  faltered  then, 
While  she  drew  nearer,  clad  in  noiseless  white : 

"  Not  often,  I  think,  does  death  so  favor  men 
A  moment  ere  his  hand  shall  fall  and  smite. 

Thou,  beauteous  Presence,  wrought  of  shadowy  dream, 

Art  not,  for  all  thou  dost  so  sweetly  seem ! 

"  Nay,  I  remember  what  the  legends  told,  — 
How,  dying  after  years  of  empty  quest, 

Those  other  searchers  would  in  dreams  behold 
The  lost  Flower's  dazzling  secret  full-confessed. 

But  my  lot  verily  hath  larger  bliss ; 

My  death-dream  wears  diviner  emphasis !  "  .  .  . 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  41 

Then  spake  the  Princess,  murmuring:   "  Ah,  be  sure 
With  all  strange  dreams  and  spells  thy  days  are  done, 

Thou  life  no  lustral  fire  might  wash  more  pure, 
Thou  valorous  and  unvanquishable  one ! 

Rather  than  deem  thou  dreamest,  meet  at  last 

Me,  the  poor  guerdon  of  thy  laboring  past ! 

"  Ah,  poor  indeed  !  since  how  shall  these  eyes  dare 
View  shameless  the  calm  grandeur  of  thine  own? 

Tried  hast  thou  been  by  stern  ordeal ;  but  where 
Has  my  great  worth  at  all  been  proven  or  shown  ? 

Yet  now,  for  nothing  given,  thy  love  is  won,  — 

A  gem  outvaluing  the  vital  sun ! 

"  Pardon,  if  thy  full  story  met  my  ear 

While  mute  I  stood  where  yonder  draperies  fall, 

Now  quivering  in  thy  presence  to  appear, 
Now  motionless  for  deep  amazement's  thrall, 

With  rapturous  thrills  through  my  astonished  heart 

To  see  thee  what  thou  so  sublimely  art ! 

"  Ah,  let  my  voice  cry  out,  avowing  all ! 

Let  me  say  fearlessly :   '  I  love,  I  love  ! ' 
Till  memory,  made  obedient  to  my  call, 

Comes  phantom-footed  at  the  sound  thereof, 
And  lending  thee  one  soft  hand,  one  to  me, 
Goes  down  with  us  to  where  her  dead  years  be ! 


42  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

"  Art  thou  still  mindful  of  the  looks  that  met 

So  oft  yet  transiently  in  other  days, 
Or  of  the  sweet  song  thou  didst  rashly  set 

Where  I  should  ramble  near  it  and  should  raise? 
Yet  couldst  not  thou,  by  vague  and  tender  sign, 
Judge  of  my  spirit  what  I  judged  of  thine? 

"  Knowing  thee  not,  I  knew  thee  !     Having  heard 
Never  thy  voice,  familiar  seemed  its  tone  ! 

Untold  of  how  thy  heart  was  ruled  or  stirred, 
Its  lightest  fear  or  fancy  was  mine  own  ! 

And  powerless  of  thy  love's  depth  even  to  guess, 

For  surety  I  believed  it  fathomless ! 

"  And  when,  the  palace  through,  thy  wistful  face 
In  places  where  I  passed  was  found  no  more, 

I  thought  thee  gone  aloof  to  some  still  place 
And  desolate,  thy  dark  lot  to  deplore ; 

But  of  thy  grief  I  did  not  dare  believe, 

Strong  soul,  how  grandly  thou  hadst  gone  to  grieve  !  " 

Then,  ere  the  ending  word  of  what  she  said, 
His  arms  had  clasped  her  in  impetuous  way, 

And  two  that  loved  were  never  lovelier  wed 
By  passionate  human  meeting  than  were  they, 

Whom  now  at  last  cold  fate  could  no  more  part,  — 

Lips  touching  lips  and  heart  laid  warm  to  heart ! 


THE  MAGIC  FLOWER.  43 


Nor  many  a  day  had  passed  before  the  King 
Gave  with  high  pomp  of  nuptials  his  fair  child 

To  him  on  whom,  for  great  accomplishing 

Through  soilless  worth  of  life,  the  people  smiled, 

And  whose  weird  tale  of  quest  from  ear  to  ear 

Had  flown  with  wondering  comments  far  and  near. 

And  when  at  last  the  unsparing  hand  of  death 
Bowed  to  his  final  sleep  the  monarch's  head, 

They  reigned  upon  whose  blended  names  no  breath 
Calumnious  or  unkind  was  ever  shed; 

And  always  while  they  reigned  the  Flower  staid  bright, 

Starring  the  crown  with  its  keen  peerless  light ! 

But  when  that  fateful  term  the  years  allot 

Befell  this  other  King,  mourned  wide  and  well, 

His  wondrous  Flower  mysteriously  was  not, 

Vanished  to  nothing,  as  the  old  records  tell  .  .  . 

Nor  has  its  radiance  once  been  seen  since  then 

Through  all  new  centuries  by  all  mortal  men ! 


44  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


BIGOTRY. 

EACH  morn  the  tire-maids  come  to  robe  their  Queen, 
Who  rises  feeble,  tottering,  faded,  gray. 
Her  dress  must  be  of  silver  blent  with  green ; 

At  the  least  change  her  court  would  shriek  dismay. 

Each  noon  the  wrinkled  nobles,  one  by  one, 

Group  round  her  throne  and  low  obeisance  give. 

Then  all,  in  melancholy  unison, 
Advise  her  by  antique  prerogative. 

Reading  the  realm's  laws,  while  they  so  advise, 

From  scripts  whose  yellowed  parchments  crack  with  age, 

They  bend  the  misty  glimmer  of  bleared  eyes 
To  trace  the  text  of  many  a  crumbling  page. 

The  poor  tired  Queen,  in  token  of  assent, 

At  solemn  intervals  will  smile  or  bow; 
She  learned  how  vain  was  royal  argument, 

Back  in  her  maidenhood,  long  years  from  now.  .  .  . 


BIGOTRY. 


45 


Each  evening,  clad  in  samite  faced  with  gold, 
The  Queen  upon  her  tarnished  throne  must  wait, 

While  through  her  mouldering  doorways,  gaunt  and  old, 
Troop  haggard-visaged  crones,  her  dames  of  state. 

She  hears  them  while  they  mumble  that  or  this, 

In  courtly  compliment  exact  and  prim ; 
With  shrivelled  lips  her  shrivelled  hand  they  kiss ; 

They  peer  in  her  dim  eyes  with  eyes  more  dim. 

Each  night  the  tire-maids  lull  her  to  repose 

With  warped  and  rusty  lutes  whose  charms  are  fled, 

Till  softly  round  her  withered  shape  they  close 
The  dingy  draperies  of  her  spectral  bed. 

• 
And  so  she  wears  the  mockery  of  her  crown 

With  sad  compliance,  futile  discontent, 
And  knows  her  people  like  herself  crushed  down 

By  dreary  tyrannies  of  precedent ! 

But  sometimes,  wakening  out  of  nightmare's  thrall, 
With  clammy  brow  and  limbs  from  terror  weak, 

Through  the  dense  dark  her  voice  will  faintly  call 
A  name  the  laws  have  made  it  death  to  speak ! 


46  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

The  name  of  one  her  girlish  heart  loved  well, 

A  strong  grand  youth  who  felt  her  soul's  deep  needs, 

Who  strove  to  snap  her  fetters  and  dispel 

The  stagnant  apathy  of  senseless  creeds.  .  .  . 


Again  from  her  steep  towers,  on  that  far  morn, 
She  marks  him  urge  his  followers  to  the  fight ; 

She  notes  with  silent  pride  what  fiery  scorn 

Leaps  from  his  good  blade,  battling  for  the  right. 

She  sees  him  dare  his  foes  that  swarm  like  bees, 
Brave,  beautiful,  a  rebel,  girt  with  hates.  .  .  . 

And  now,  in  lurid  memory,  last  she  sees 
His  bare  skull  whitening  at  her  city  gates ! 


SUGGESTIONS. 


47 


SUGGESTIONS. 

WHEN  darkly  o'er  the  mind  have  flown 
Bewildering  mists  of  grief, 
When  doubt's  rough  arm  has  overthrown 
All  bastions  of  belief, 

When  hope  is  like  a  flower  that  falls, 

Despoiled  of  bloom  and  balm, — 
Even  then  we  gain,  at  intervals, 
Majestic  moods  of  calm. 

Though  empty  looks  the  aim  to  explore, 

By  words  of  mortal  breath, 
The  mystery  that  is  life  —  and  more, 
The  mystery  that  is  death, 

Yet  gleams  of  happier  change  are  known, 

Brief-clad  with  cogent  power, 
When  feeling  reigns  on  reason's  throne, 
The  sovereign  of  an  hour  ! 


48  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

And  then,  if  so  the  heart  shall  choose, 

Our  thrilled  and  wondering  sense 
Can  hear  the  voice  of  nature  use 
Aerial  eloquence !  .  .  . 


When  lonely  memories  of  our  loss, 

In  dreams  to  thrill  the  sight, 
Have  swept  funereally  across 
The  draperies  of  the  night, 

Perchance,  along  the  illumined  land, 

Dawn  seems,  with  sweet  release, 
A  white  consolatory  hand 

That  points  to  bournes  of  peace  !   .  .  . 

Or  if,  when  day  is  done,  we  pass 

Where  deep  woods  vaguely  stir, 
Whose  branches  hide  the  embowered  grass 
Of  swards  they  sepulchre, 

Perchance  a  sudden  joy  will  greet 

The  breast  that  misery  mars, 
When  clear  through  sundering  leaves  we  meet 
The  high  smile  of  the  stars  !  .  .  . 


SUGGESTIONS.  49 

Or  yet  the  same  rich  pulse  of  thought 

May  wake,  in  souls  like  these, 
To  watch  the  long  pale  pathways  wrought 
By  moons  on  summer  seas  !  .  .  . 


Or  yet  when  fleet  cool  winds  arise, 

At  some  harsh  tempest's  flight, 
While  half  of  heaven  in  blackness  lies, 
And  the  other  laughs  in  light !  .  .  . 

Thus  many  a  grace  through  nature  lives, 

By  whose  dear  aid  we  gain 
Some  delicate  sympathy  that  gives 
Nepenthes  unto  pain ! 

O  soft  appeals  !     O  shadowy  spells  ! 
You  seem,  when  earthward  borne, 
Like  birds  from  far  Hesperian  dells 
In  alien  climes  forlorn ! 


And  whence  you  float,  on  transient  wing, 

Ah,  wherefore  vainly  guess? 
Enough  that  while  you  bide  you  bring 
Sublime  suggestiveness ! 
4 


50  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


DESPOTISM. 

NIGHT  in  Stamboul  is  at  its  drowsy  noon; 
Like  hollowed  crystal  beam  the  faint-starred  skies 
Where  cypresses  throng  black  below  the  moon 
The  pale  domes  of  the  Sultan's  palace  rise. 

No  sound  this  deep  repose  will  break  till  dawn, 
Save  when  the  tremor  of  some  long  breeze  runs 

Among  the  oleanders  on  the  lawn, 

Where  swarthy  sentries  loll  beside  their  guns. 

Dead  still  the  town ;  close-guarded,  here  and  there, 
The  massive  gates  loom  high  in  silver  shade ; 

Alike  o'er  mosque  and  mart,  o'er  street  and  square, 
One  silence  of  the  sepulchre  is  laid. 

Stern  is  the  curse  that  crushes,  bans  or  dooms 
All  rebels  that  may  venture,  scheme  or  dare  .  .  . 

Some  groan  their  hearts  away  in  dungeon  glooms, 
In  exile  or  in  slavery  some  despair. 


DESPOTISM.  5 

What  peace  at  last  this  Orient  empire  lulls, 
What  safety  from  alarm  its  despot  cheers, 

Guarded  by  fortresses  of  human  skulls 
That  tower  to-night  o'er  moats  of  blood  and  tears ! 

And  he  whose  patient  hope  no  peril  dims, 
Whose  desperate  zeal  no  fear  of  failure  mars, 

To  tear  the  chains  from  liberty's  white  limbs, 
Must  fight  his  way  through  swarms  of  scimitars  ! 

.  .  .  And  yet,  even  now,  where  purple  pomps  unfold, 
The  Sultan,  with  all  power  at  dark  eclipse, 

Dies  from  the  poisoned  wine  whose  cup  of  gold 
His  own  Sultana  lifted  to  his  lips ! 


52  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


A  KIND  OF  PREACHER. 

Volumes  might  be  written  on  the  impiety  of  the  pious.  —  HERBERT  SPENCER. 

A  MIGHTY  moral  teacher  this, 
Who  deals,  with  finely  flourished  arms, 
Now  in  damnation,  now  in  bliss, 

Now  sweetly  comforts,  now  alarms ; 
And  skilled  to  clothe  each  view  intense 
With  pulpit-shaking  eloquence ! 

Nothing  too  vague  or  too  sublime 
Transcends  his  confident  surmise ; 

The  awful  ambuscades  of  time 
Conceal  no  secrets  from  his  eyes ; 

The  deeps  of  space  he  coolly  sounds ; 

He  gives  eternity  its  bounds ! 

On  nature's  plan  his  looks  are  bent, 

And  lo,  she  teems,  we  straightway  learn, 

With  special  providences  meant 
For  his  rare  wisdom  to  discern. 

He  scorns  what  science  may  disclose, 

For  she  but  talks  of  what  she  knows. 


A   KIND  OF  PREACHER.  53 

Poor  science,  holding  in  her  hand 

A  few  scant  remnants  of  earth's  youth, 

And  having  at  her  slight  command 

Nothing  more  potent  than  the  truth  !   .  .  . 

The  sword  of  fact  but  ill  appals 

Where  bigotry's  great  bludgeon  falls  ! 

He  lifts  aloft  his  pious  gaze ; 

In  holy  wrath  his  features  glow ; 
For  all  dark  sinning  souls  he  prays; 

His  congregation  weeps  below. 
He  sees  destruction's  giddy  brink 
Thronged  with  these  rogues  who  dare  to  think ! 

But  once  beneath  his  throne  we  sat ; 

We  heard  his  discourse,  word  for  word ; 
And  God  was  this,  and  God  was  that, 

And  God  was  thus  and  thus,  we  heard ; 
Till  we,  who  merely  mope  and  plod, 
Envied  this  bosom-friend  of  God  ! 


54  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 


THE   WORM. 

WHERE  garden  pathways  glimmer  blithe 
And  bees  go  singing,  one  by  one, 
I  watch  your  clammy  coldness  writhe, 
In  headless  hatred  of  the  sun. 

Perchance  with  strange  and  mute  appeal 
You  question  fate's  capricious  powers, 

That  harshly  doom  your  frame  to  feel 

This  long  breeze  trembling  through  the  flowers. 

Perchance  you  hold  as  dreary  thrall 
This  freedom,  sweet  with  summer  light, 

And  pine  once  more  to  loll  and  crawl 
In  quietudes  of  earthy  night. 

Or  yet,  perchance,  you  loathe  the  dews 

That  flash  in  brilliance  here  above, 
But  thrill  to  dream  of  how  they  ooze 

Through  mouldy  fathoms  that  you  love. 


THE    WORM.  55 

Or  where  the  lilies  break  from  soil, 

With  taintless  chalices  of  bloom, 
Perchance  you  yearn  to  see  them  coil 

Damp  snaky  roots  amid  the  gloom. 

Ah,  well !  Few  men  with  equal  sight 

Can  read  the  riddle  of  life's  term, 
And  that  which  I  may  hail  as  light 

Looks  darkness  to  my  brother  worm. 

So,  dismal  burrower,  hidden  be 

Once  more  within  your  realm  forlorn ; 

Grope  dumbly  down,  and  leave  to  me 
The  balmy  lilies  bathed  in  morn  ! 


56  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


IMPERFECTION. 

WHENCE    comes    the    old    silent    charm  whose 
tender  stress 

Has  many  a  mother  potently  beguiled 
To  leave  her  rosier  children  and  caress 

The  white  brow  of  the  frail  misshapen  child  ? 

Ah !  whence  the  mightier  charm  that  age  by  age 
Has  lured  so  many  a  man,  through  spells  unknown, 

To  serve  for  years,  in  reverent  vassalage, 
A  beauteous  bosom  and  a  heart  of  stone? 


CHRIST.  57 


CHRIST. 

A  S  one  may  watch  the  vapors  die 

*»     That  shroud  some  greater  star  from  sight, 
Until  its  throbbing  orb  hangs  white 

In  slumberous  vaultages  of  sky,  — 

Even  thus  we  watch  retire  and  fly 
All  shadowing  mists  of  empty  creeds 
That  long  have  dimmed  the  immortal  light 
Of  this  man's  golden  words  and  deeds ! 


Man  lofty  and  lone,  yet  Man  no  less, 
Though  eager  nature  at  his  birth 
Had  ampler  dreams  of  human  worth 

To  incite  and  thrill  creativeness ! 

From  awful  urns  beyond  our  guess 

Draining  that  power  none  plies  but  she, 

With  holier  elemental  earth 

She  joined  it,  and  the  event  was  He  ! 


58  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

Blameless,  unique,  he  lived  and  spake, 
So  wise  above  his  lowlier  kind 
That  all  the  endowments  of  his  mind 

Seemed  radiant  as  from  godhood's  wake. 

He  sought  to  quell  the  nameless  ache 

That  pierced  humanity's  heart;  he  sought 

Ease  for  its  pagan  thirst  to  find 

At  bounteous  conduits  of  chaste  thought ! 

He  loved  us  in  the  o'erbrooding  way 
That  heaven  bends  over  sea  and  land ; 
The  meek  benignance  of  his  hand 

With  sweet  strange  tyrannies  could  sway ; 

He  bade  us  break  the  stubborn  clay 
Whose  bonds  detain  the  ascendant  soul 
From  those  pure  summits  which  command 
The  glory  and  calm  of  self-control. 

No  prize  beyond  death  his  promise  gave, 

No  visible  paradise  of  sense ; 

He  only  implied  that  recompense 
Which  is  to  right,  our  side  the  grave, 
As  to  the  shaft  the  architrave, — 

That  guerdon  of  sublime  device, 

The  realization  high,  intense, 

Of  individual  sacrifice ! 


CHRIST.  59 

His  teaching's  rich  remedial  store 

Among  unlettered  listeners  fell 

Not  in  cold  idiom,  as  was  well, 
But  soft  pictorial  metaphor ; 
Till  they  who  marked  its  precious  lore 

Thus  blossom  in  parable  or  trope, 

Too  credulously  made  it  tell 

Illusory  messages  of  hope  ! 

What  vital  truths  his  counsel  said 
Were  called  by  supernatural  names, 
Their  grand  utilitarian  aims 

Misvalued,  misinterpreted. 

His  followers  traced  about  his  head 
The  angelic  nimbus,  meekly  worn,  — 
While  they  contemptuous  of  such  claims, 
Mocked  him  with  fiery  heathen  scorn ! 

Fond  ignorance,  on  his  acts  intent, 
Clad  them  in  miracle's  weird  guise 
And  linked  them  to  the  smart  surprise 

That  dexterous  juggleries  invent; 

Or  yet  fierce  brains  their  efforts  bent 

To  assert  him  kinned  with  evil  fates.  .  .  . 
And  so  he  moved  before  men's  eyes, 
Half-cheered  with  loves,  half-lashed  with  hates ! 


60  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

Girt  thick  by  crime,  yet  free  from  flaw, 
Fearless  he  moved  through  field  and  mart, 
Philanthropy's  divinest  part 
Substantiate  in  his  life's  pure  law, 
And  showering  on  the  world  he  saw 
Those  peerless  ethics,  wide  as  air, 
Yet  narrow  as  any  hearer's  heart 
For  entrance  and  continuance  there. 

Then  came  the  hour  when  scathed  with  jeers 
He  fell  before  that  last  loud  sin 
Whose  echoing  infamy  has  been 

Vibrant  through  eighteen  hundred  years. 

He  lived  pre-eminent  above  peers, 

He  died  with  mercy  in  his  last  breath,  — 
Yet  only  as  gratitude  could  win 
Gethsemane,  Calvary  and  death ! 

And  since  the  Syrian  sun  looked  down 
On  that  supreme  historic  woe,  — 
The  desecrated  brow  below 
Its  bloody  and  ignominious  crown, 
The  stark  nailed  limbs,  the  ribald  town, 
The  insulting  spear,  too  base  to  slay, — 
How  many  a  creed  has  caught  its  glow 
From  that  one  dire  and  lurid  day ! 


CHRIST.  6! 

What  wild  polemic  heat  has  raged ! 

How  gibbet,  stake  and  rack  would  fright 
Pale  shuddering  martyrs,  morn  and  night ! 

And  how,  through  centuries  unassuaged, 

Calamitous  battle  has  been  waged 
By  hot  ecclesiastic  leagues, 
Till  history's  wan  muse  tires  to  write 
Of  massacres,  bigotries,  intrigues! 

And  lo  !  this  fury  of  sword  and  pen 

Was  flung  toward  him  whose  love  could  span 

Humanity,  and  who  pleaded  man 
For  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men ! 
The  reach  of  whose  intuitive  ken, 

Strong  with  desires  to  save  and  bless, 

Outsoared  all  philosophic  plan 

In  monumental  kindliness ! 

But  now  at  last  through  lovelier  ways 

His  bright  identity  may  burn 

For  the  unfanatic  few  that  turn 
To  watch  it  with  impartial  gaze. 
Stript  bare  from  fable's  cheapening  praise, 

A  memory  and  a  name  unpriced, 

At  last  with  reverence  we  discern 

The  white  humanitarian  Christ ! 


62  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 


THE  DYING  ARCHANGEL 

BEYOND    the   sense    or    dream   we    know    as 
man's, 
In   heights   or   deeps  where    time  and  space  are 

one 

And  either  as  the  mote  that  specks  a  ray ; 
At  fountain-head  of  mystery,  force  and  rule 
Whose  funds  of  calm  are  causes  of  all  worlds, 
Ended,  begun  or  yet  to  roll  and  shine,  — 
A  being,  a  child  of  light  and  majesty, 
Did  evil,  sinned  a  terrible  sin,  and  felt 
His  immortality  tremble,  while  a  Voice 
Whose  mandate  was  creation  and  whose  wrath 
Extinction,  spake  the  doom  he  feared  must  fall. 

"  So  near  wert  thou  to  natal  roots  of  good 
That  almost  thou  wert  I,  as  I  was  thou ; 
And  hence  the  incomparable  deed  devised 
Of  thee,  sin's  primal  enemy,  hath  sent 


THE  DYING  ARCHANGEL.  63 

A  shudder  among  the  voids  where  systems  wheel 

And  made  the  soul  of  order  rock  with  threat 

Great  is  thy  sin,  as  thou,  bright  subaltern, 

Art  great ;   and  therefore  great  must  be  thy  shame. 

Death  is  that  shame ;   and  yet  a  loftier  death 

Should  take  thee,  as  befits  thy  place  and  power. 

So  shall  thy  passing  into  emptiness 

Be  archangelic  for  its  dignity, 

As  thou,  archangel,  shouldst  in  grandeur  die." 

Then  he  that  heard  with  anguish,  raised  his  eyes, 
Dark  as  two  seas  in  storm,  yet  dared  not  speak. 
And  while  he  stood,  with  glory  and  ruin  each 
Blent  in  his  mien,  like  some  wild  shattered  cloud 
That  lightning  rends  and  leaves,  once  more  the  Voice : 


"  Thou  knowest  of  how  among  my  million  stars 
One  beautifully  beamed  for  centuries,  yet 
Hath  aged  at  last,  and  nears  its  fated  close. 
That  star  I  love  as  I  loved  thee ;  for  both 
Served  me  in  radiance  as  my  vassals,  both 
Shone  the  exemplars  of  obedience,  both 
With  memories  of  proud  loyalty  shall  haunt 
Eternity  through  all  its  domes  and  zones. 
Go,  therefore,  thou,  imperial  in  thy  pain 


64  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

Of  exile  and  of  punishment,  to  lay 

The  shadowed  splendor  of  thy  limbs  and  brows 

Dying  upon  that  dying  star  !     A  world 

Of  melancholy  as  mighty  as  thine  own 

Shall  compass  thee,  and  while  it  fades  and  dims, 

Thy  spirit  in  unison  shall  wane.     Farewell !  " 


Then  sought  the  Archangel,  plaintless  and  alone, 

This  ancient  star  whose  orb  should  be  his  tomb. 

Once  its  wide  continents  had  swarmed  with  man, 

But  now  the  torpid  life  of  toad  or  worm 

Reigned  sole  among  nude  fields  and  spectral  woods. 

No  beast  was  left,  no  hint  of  leaf  on  bough, 

No  delicate  wraith  of  flower,  no  glimpse  of  vine, 

Or  yet,  through  many  a  year,  no  trill  of  bird ; 

But  all  was  dreariness  and  desuetude, 

Fatigue,  affliction,  languor  and  decay ! 

The  star  had  been  a  planet,  allegiant 

To  a  vast  sun  that  glimmered  at  this  hour 

Wan  as  a  wasted  ember  from  its  heaven. 

In  bends  of  rivers  that  had  shrunk  to  streams, 

On  coasts  of  seas  that  flashed  a  glassy  gray, 

Phantoms  of  cities  reared  their  roofs  and  towers, 

With  streets  that  swept  by  mouldering  palaces, 

With  monstrous  parks,  where  crumbling  statues  loomed, 


THE  DYING  ARCHANGEL.  65 

With  temples,  mausoleums  and  monuments 
In  pathos  of  debasement ;  with  long  wharves 
Where  sick,  monotonous  ripples  ever  lapped 
On  towering  hulls  of  rotted  ships  that  once 
Had  scorned  the  ire  of  tempests,  —  nay,  with  all 
To  attest  a  race  of  such  magnificence, 
Dominion,  empire  and  supremacy 
As  knowledge  wed  to  wisdom  nobly  breeds. 


Then,  drooping  low,  the  accursed  Archangel  spake : 
"  O  star,  I  knew  thee  in  thy  luminous  prime, 
And  loved  thee  not  alone  that  thou  wert  fair, 
But  for  the  attainments  and  the  victories 
Wrought  of  thy  peoples  till  they  rose  like  gods ! 
For  slowly  did  they  climb,  while  aeons  passed, 
From  brutish  aims  to  deeds  of  golden  worth. 
I  watched  and  loved  their  leaders  of  high  thought, 
Their  stealthy  change  of  laws  from  vile  to  pure, 
Their  conquests  over  tyrannies  and  wrongs, 
Their  agonies,  hopes,  rebellions,  and  at  last 
The  white  dawn  of  their  peace  !     But  most  of  all 
I  loved,  O  star,  the  poets  upon  thy  sphere, 
And  found  in  these  melodious  prophecy 
Of  dreams  thy  future  waited  to  fulfil.  .  .  . 
But  now  thy  future  and  thy  past  are  one, 

5 


66  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

And  I,  who  am  fallen  from  immortality, 
Shall  rob  thy  dissolution,  to  my  joy, 
Of  death's  worst  pang,  being  come  to  lay  myself 
In  thee  as  in  a  sepulchre  sublime !  " 


So,  while  the  dimness  gathered  gloom,  and  night 
That  had  no  morning  shrouded  these  lone  lands, 
The  Archangel  bowed  his  head  and  screened  his  face, 
And  died  in  silence  with  the  dying  star ! 


TWO      WORLDS.  67 


TWO  WORLDS. 

A  FIERY  young  world,  in  far  voids  of  sky, 
Called  to  an  old  world  growing  dark  and  chill 
"  Now  that  you  near  the  hour  when  you  must  die, 
Tell  me  what  mighty  memories  haunt  you  still !  " 

Then  from  the  old  sad  world  this  answer  fell : 

"  Vast  peoples  rose  and  vanished  where  I  swing.  . 

But  all  my  poor  tired  soul  remembers  well 
Are  the  great  songs  my  poets  used  to  sing !  " 


68  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


WAR. 

HOW  long  until  the  old  sombre  curse  relent 
That  shadows  with  its  lurid  pest  our  world,  — 
That  often  amid  dismay  and  pain  has  hurled 
The  fairest  isle,  the  mightiest  continent? 

How  soon  shall  all  this  power  and  reign  of  wrong 
Back  to  a  prisoning  past  be  sternly  sent, 
Where  ancient  evils  lie  like  serpents  curled, 

Writhing  with  memories  that  they  once  were  strong ! 

Through  ages  glory  about  thy  feet  hath  clung, 
War,  terribler  than  all  known  shapes  but  they 
That  deep  in  noisome  charnels  crumble  away ; 
Yet  proudly  o'er  thine  hideous  frame  are  flung 

To-day  the  purple  and  gold  of  kingly  dress, 
And  round  thee  throng  allegiant  old  and  young, 
With  banner  and  plume  and  pomp  their  love  to  pay, 
And  kiss  thy  slaughterous  hand's  red  ghastliness ! 


WAR.  69 

Thy  smoking  altars  are  the  riot  of  strife ; 
The  great  are  of  thy  vassalage ;   alone 
Is  he  best  loved  that  shall  approach  thy  throne 
Dripping  most  vilely  with  his  brother's  life ; 

To  restless  monarchs'  ears  thy  flatteries  dread 
Thou  bringest,  pointing  with  ensanguined  knife 
Toward  fame,  — a  spire  of  insubstantial  stone, 

That  looms  o'er  glimmering  meadows  dark  with  dead! 

The  fumes  of  flaming  city  or  village  rise 
With  welcome  to  thy  nostrils,  and  the  reek 
Of  gore  is  delicate  as  no  words  may  speak; 
Thine  ears  drink  greedily  those  tragic  cries 

Of  suppliant  women  seized  in  maddened  flight; 
Vain  prayers  of  the  old  for  mercy  dost  thou  prize, 
Or  agony  of  the  mother's  thrilling  shriek 

When  her  sweet  babe  is  murdered  in  her  sight ! 

And  thou  hast  dared  with  ocean's  loudest  boom 
To  match  thy  savage  clamor,  and  to  appall 
Its  violence,  when  thy  cannon's  deadly  ball 
Rakes  o'er  blood-slippery  decks  a  path  of  doom; 
Or  when  the  lit  wreck  flares  in  hot  distress ; 
Or  when  the  dim  vast  vessel,  in  midnight  gloom, 
Suddenly  at  the  sly  torpedo's  call 

Thunders  and  blazes  into  nothingness ! 


70  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

Or  yet  with  exultation  dost  thou  go, 

When  truce  its  lull  to  battle  and  rapine  brings, 
Where  the  sad  hospital  forlornly  rings 
With  cries  and  moans  of  suffering,  keen  or  low, 

And  all  the  vacuous  rant  delirium  saith ; 
Or  where  at  the  ended  fight's  dumb  overthrow 
Of  man  and  steed,  fly  forth  on  massive  wings 
The  dolorous-throated  poursuivants  of  death !   . 

Wisdom,  thou  lamp  of  nations,  light  supreme, 
With  chaster  brilliance  glitter  than  of  yore  ! 
Win  men  to  seek  thy  beauty  and  to  adore 
Knowledge,  whose  rich  oil  feeds  thy  virgin  beam, 

Till  life  to  loftier  longings  be  attuned, 
And  from  humanity,  in  both  deed  and  dream, 
This  folly  of  hate  be  exiled  evermore, 

Now  haunting  it  as  foul  flies  haunt  a  wound ! 

O  quench  eternally  these  baleful  fires ! 

Wipe  clean  and  sheathe  henceforth  from  future  ills 
This  truculent  sword  that  arrogantly  spills 
Fresh  blood  to  hiss  amid  insatiate  pyres ! 

For  lo !  all  thought  where  high  ambitions  dwell, 
All  pure  ideals  of  freedom,  all  desires 
Whose  rush  of  godlier  warmth  man's  bosom  fills, 
Revolt  from  this  black  janizary  of  hell ! 


THE  STARS. 


THE   STARS. 


BUSIED  with  earthly  doings  here  below, 
How  careless  of  the  grand  stars  do  we  grow 


How  many  a  night  while  these  most  richly  burn, 
Toward  all  their  flowers  of  fire  we  never  turn !  .  .  . 

I  dreamed  of  some  strange  world  that  cloaks  of  cloud 
Ensheathed  each  evening  in  one  dreary  shroud. 

Across  the  heaven  at  sunset  it  was  drawn, 
And  wrought  sepulchral  darkness  till  the  dawn. 

But  once,  through  each  new  century  of  that  sphere, 
The  dense  obscurity  would  disappear 

And  show  the  stars,  for  multitudes  to  mark, 
Clustered  and  wreathed  along  the  dizzy  dark ! 

And  then  all  tribes  and  nations,  as  they  saw, 
Would  sink  upon  their  knees  in  speechless  awe ! 


72  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


POVERTY. 

THEY  that  have  borne  such  miseries  yet  endure ; 
They  that  so  often  have  cried  are  crying  still ; 
We  learn  to  name  them  lightly,  these,  our  poor, 
As  part  of  earth's  irreparable  ill. 
Us  their  sad  voices  have  slight  power  to  thrill, 
Their  desolate  haggard  eyes  but  faintly  grieve, 

Since  we,  who  meet  their  anguish  face  to  face, 
Through  many  a  year  its  rigid  truth  receive 
As  poverty's  eternal  commonplace ! 

All  men,  we  muse,  in  shadow  of  trouble  grope, 

Yet  these  are  girt  unchangeably  from  birtn 
With  dubious  gloom  whereby  the  star  of  hope 
Shines  vaguely  on  harsh  crag  or  sinuous  firth ; 
Yet  who  may  alter  this  unvarying  dearth? 
Philosophy's  astral  splendors  cannot  light 

Cold  want's  disheartening  dimness  of  eclipse, 
And  science,  although  she  weigh  vast  worlds  in  night, 
Brings  no  new  morsel  of  bread  to  famished  lips ! 


POVERTY.  73 

Famed  thinkers,  noble  alike  of  brain  and  deed, 

Have  grown  white-haired  in  pondering  how  to  give 
These  millions,  bruised  by  poignant  thorns  of  need, 
Some  potent  and  benign  alleviative. 
But  still  their  burdening  hardships  grimly  live ; 
Still  in  the  resonant  city's  careless  heart, 

While  deep  groans  pass  on  the  wind  like  empty 

breath, 

Cadaverous  throngs,  mankind's  far  greater  part, 
With  rags  for  armor  fight  the  assaults  of  death  ! 

At  toil  they  are  stabbed  with  cold  or  scathed  with  heat ; 
Tear-soaked,  blood-stained,  is  the  scant  food  they  win ; 
From  earliest  youth  round  their  unheeded  feet 
Bloom  tanglingly  the  red-flowered  weeds  of  sin. 
Whatever  bodily  pain  has  worn  them  thin, 

Whatever  sorrow  has  racked  them,  still  they  hear 

Starvation's  rancorous  wolves  behind  them  press, 
While  vice  and  ignorance,  each  with  ghostly  leer, 
Exult  in  mockery  at  their  wretchedness. 

Child  after  child,  they  are  born  to  shame  and  woe, 
And  stained  at  birth  by  even  a  mother's  kiss,  — 

Too  briefly  pure,  like  those  fair  flakes  of  snow 
That  fall  amid  the  impure  metropolis ! 
What  savage  ineludible  curse  is  this, 


74  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

O  sovereignty  that  rulest  fate  and  time? 

Why   are    these    countless    lives    thus    blindly 

wrecked, 
And  made  to  dreary  suffering  or  mad  crime 

So  terribly  and  so  strangely  pre-elect? 


Age  after  age  rolls  onward ;   progress  wheels 
Her  golden  chariot  over  shattered  wrong ; 
Louder  the  limpid  voice  of  liberty  peals, 

Gladdening  our  world  with  archangelic  song ; 
Yet  multitudes  below  the  virulent  thong 

Of  this  harsh  doom  go  staggering  to  their  graves 

With  feet  that  falter  and  with  shapes  that  writhe. 
O  freedom,  poverty  has  her  droves  of  slaves ; 
Thou  holdest  but  humanity's  mean  tithe ! 

They  suffer  and  die ;  they  starve,  burn,  freeze  and  faint ! 

We  hug  our  treasures,  and  the  old  ill  endures  .  .  . 
How  long,  O  infinite  God,  ere  this  wild  plaint 

Shall  pierce  the  trance  in  which  our  spirit  immures 
Its  best  nobility,  and  the  "  mine  "  and  "  yours  " 
Clash  with  hate's  fierce  antithesis  no  more  ? 

How  long  ere  love  on  a  loveless  world  shall  flow? 
How  long,  how  long,  ere  we  few,  safe  on  shore, 
Fling  spars  to  drowning  myriads  there  below? 


POVERTY. 

Have  mercy,  O  men !  O  ye  that  strength  possess, 

Bridge  firm,  with  pity  and  charity  for  span, 
The  void  of  egotism,  of  selfishness, 

Whose  gulf  so  sternly  sunders  man  from  man ! 
Help  with  grand  aid  the  unconsummated  plan 
Of  centuries  moving  to  millennial  goals  ! 

O  seek  that  loftier  grace,  that  richer  good, 
That  prouder  patriotism,  where  earthly  souls 
Meet  mightily  in  sacred  brotherhood ! 


75 


76  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 


FIAT    JUSTITIA. 
I. 

THEY  tell  her  he  is  dead ;   and  when  she  hears 
Right  instantly  she  fears 
Lest  they  shall  wonder  that  she  sheds  no  tears. 

"  Poor  widowed  one,"  they  whisper,  for  they  see 

Her  sorrowing  mien  ;  but  she 
Makes  passionate  inward  murmur :  "  I  am  free  !  " 

II. 
She  hears  that  he  is  dead ;  and  when  she  hears, 

Leap  the  hot  heavy  tears 
To  eyes  that  have  not  wept  for  years  and  years. 

And  lo,  she  has  forgiven  him  all  the  shame 

He  wrought  upon  her  name, 
So  blackening  it  with  soilure  of  black  blame. 

Then  to  his  home  she  hurries,  yearning  sore 

To  look  on  him  once  more ;   . 
But  friends  in  awful  virtue  guard  the  door. 


GREEK   VINTAGE  SONG.  77 


GREEK    VINTAGE    SONG. 


1  WATCH  the  balmy  moon  of  Crete 
Shine  softly  o'er  the  slumbering  wheat ; 
I  hear  beyond  the  dusky  firs 
The  silver  flutes  of  vintagers ; 
I  see  the  marble  goddess  gleam 
Below  the  cypress,  near  the  stream ; 
I  wait,  I  yearn,  I  sigh  for  thee, 
While  vaguely  calls  the  distant  sea, 
Pasiphae,  Pasiphae ! 

II. 

Aloof,  in  yonder  breezy  lawns, 
Like  some  gay  troop  of  graceful  fawns, 
With  grape-leaves  round  their  brows  and  throats, 
The  revelling  shepherds  urge  their  goats ; 
Or,  with  white  robe  and  shining  zone, 
Gay  Daphnis  flies  from  Philemon  .  .  . 
Ah,  come !  I  wait,  I  yearn  for  thee, 
While  faintly  booms  the  mellow  sea, 
Pasiphae,  Pasiphae ! 


78  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 


NAPOLEON'S    HEART. 

"  Imperial  Casar,  dead  and  turned  to  clay. 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away." 

NAPOLEON  in  Saint  Helena  lay  dead ; 
And  when  the  corpse  had  borne  the  embalmer's  art, 
A  certain  English  doctor,  it  is  said, 
Placed  in  a  silver  basin  by  his  bed 
The  Emperor's  heart. 

At  either  side  this  precious  thing  he  set 

An  exorcising  taper,  slim  and  still ; 
And  though  he  lay  with  eyes  averted,  yet 
His  curious  charge  he  could  but  ill  forget, 
And  slumbered  ill. 

Now,  after  ugly  dreams  that  shocked  him  sore, 
He  woke  at  last  to  hear,  when  night  was  late, 
A  scrambling  noise  that  loudened  more  and  more, 
A  splash  —  and  the  dull  falling  to  the  floor 
Of  a  dead  weight. 


NAPOLEON'S  HEART.  79 

He  leapt  from  bed  and  saw  with  wild  surprise 

The  vessel  void,  and  overturned  at  that; 
And  saw  as  well,  (could  he  believe  his  eyes?) 
Dragging  the  heart  along,  in  greedy  wise, 
A  monstrous  rat ! 

The  grim  thief,  once  discovered,  fled  dismayed  .  .  . 

And  yet  that  heart  whose  vast  dreams  could  control 
Europe,  and  at  whose  pleasure  thrones  were  swayed, 
Just  missed  the  ironic  fate  of  being  laid 
In  a  rat's  hole ! 


80  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 


ADAGIO. 

WHEN  memory  is  a  harp  in  sorrow's  hand, 
How  plaintive  the  aeolian  music  swells, 
As  though  a  breeze  from  some  enchanted  land 
Went  sighing  across  long  slopes  of  asphodels  ! 

What  pale  wild  spirits  troop  with  ghostly  tread, 
When  memory  is  a  harp  in  sorrow's  hand, 
Funereal-vestured  and  rue-chapleted, 
Gathering  at  her  disconsolate  command ! 

What  wistful  eyes  amid  that  phantom  band 
Meet  ours  through  portals  of  the  unclosing  years, 
When  memory  is  a  harp  in  sorrow's  hand, 
To  throb  with  melodies  that  are  made  from  tears ! 

What  spells  of  summons,  while  the  deep  strains  roll, 
Wake  from  its  rest,  with  resurrection  grand, 
That  shadowy  Campo  Santo  called  the  soul, 
When  memory  is  a  harp  in  sorrow's  hand ! 


HABIT.  g  I 


HABIT. 

OHE  marks  the  sure  tides  fall  and  flow, 
^     The  white  sails  come,  the  white  sails  go. 

Part  of  the  shore  she  seems  to  be, 
Like  its  old  wreck,  its  one  lean  tree. 

She  knows  not  why  her  dim  looks  peer 
From  drab  flat  sand  or  headland  sheer. 

Her  dress  floats  careless  on  the  breeze ; 
Her  face  is  wrinkled,  like  the  sea's.  .  .  . 

'Twas  rumored  once  that  in  her  breast 
A  small  brown  curl  for  years  had  rest, 

And  that  when  evening  filled  the  sky 
She  kissed  it  and  would  say  "  Good-bye !  " 

So  ran  the  tale,  in  idle  way  .  .  . 
Her  poor  brown  curl  is  lost  to-day. 
6 


82  ROMANCE  AND  REVERY. 

Perchance  she  seeks  it,  wandering  so, 
As  white  sails  come,  as  white  sails  go. 

But  sometimes,  while  the  sun  drops  down, 
She  takes  a  scrap  of  seaweed  brown, 

And  looking  at  the  far-off  ships, 

Holds  that  against  her  withered  lips  !  .  .  . 


THE   WISE  PAGE.  83 


THE    WISE    PAGE. 

THE  brave  lord,  Baldwin  de  Poinceville, 
In  his  castle-court  doth  stand, 
Helmeted,  spurred  and  armed  in  steel, 
Ere  he  rides  to  the  Holy  Land. 

His  full  grave  brow  hath  a  weary  mark 
And  his  lips  are  drawn  with  pain, 

As  he  stays  his  stately  steed  and  dark 
By  a  touch  on  its  jewelled  rein. 

And  he  whispers  now,  with  a  solemn  care 
Lest  his  deep  voice  break  for  tears, 

To  the  gentle  page  with  the  yellow  hair, 
So  wise  beyond  his  years. 

And  he  charges :  "  Be  thou  leal  to  serve 
Thy  lady,  the  chaste  and  good ; 

Let  not  thy  stanch  young  spirit  swerve 
From  seemliest  vassalhood. 


84  ROMANCE  AND  RE  VERY. 

"  Nor  lightlier  serve,  for  thy  sweet  part, 
Because  thou  long  hast  known 

I  cannot  win  her  pure  young  heart 
To  trust  and  love  mine  own. 


"  And  bitter  though  the  thought  must  be 
That  she  stands  not  here  this  day, 

To  pledge  a  parting  cup  with  me 
And  to  speed  me  on  my  way, 

"  Still,  guard  her  with  proud  zeal  and  glad, 

With  homage  that  reveres, 
As  thou  art  loyal-souled,  my  lad, 

And  wise  beyond  thy  years !  "  .  .  . 

So  charges  Baldwin  de  Poinceville, 
And  he  sighs  one  sombre  sigh. 

But  therewithal  doth  his  young  page  kneel 
And  with  trembling  tones  reply : 

"  Heed  me  in  this  I  do  aver, 

Since  I  joy  to  swear  it  here : 
With  my  zeal  and  homage  both,  sweet  sir, 

Shall  I  guard  thy  lady  dear !  "    ... 


THE    WISE  PAGE.  35 

Away  rides  Baldwin  de  Poinceville, 

Stout  knight,  to  the  Holy  War; 
And  the  page  to  his  lady's  bower  doth  steal, 

And  knocks  at  his  lady's  door. 

"  Open,"  he  cries,  "  O  my  lady  fair, 

And  having  no  more  sad  fears, 
Come,  kiss  your  page  with  the  yellow  hair,  — 

So  wise  beyond  his  years !  " 


